Molly Hooper: Grim Reaper Extraordinaire
by Alltheroads
Summary: It shouldn't end like this. So Molly sees to it that it doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

Socializing with the living is not one of Molly Hooper's strong points. But really, what can you expect from someone who works with the dead? People without a heartbeat listened to hear silent troubles so much better. It was better than the piteous stares that she would receive. People always assumed she was a naïve little girl, stuck in her fantasy world.

The truth was, Molly knew about the harshness of the world around her. The dark corners weren't so hidden. She wasn't naïve. Molly was a Reaper, and being a Reaper meant hearing about all the gruesome deaths, and the lives that came before them.

Sure, she held a respectable position in the morgue, but it was in the Reaper business where she shined.

Molly was kind to the souls who stood beside her. She comforted them as best she could. Some would get angry with her. Many would shed tears after being filled with the pain of knowing that their lives are not lost, and wondering what will become of their loved ones. Molly would give them all the time they needed, within reason, before they passed on to the next part.

They would ask her what came next, fearful that there was absolutely nothing. Others, to her distress, felt that they deserved to go to hell, or a place much like it. She explained to them, each time, that she was the kind of reaper who dealt with good souls. If you went to her, there was no reason to fear.

But Molly was never quite sure. Reapers knew next to nothing about what happened when you passed. Besides, why wouldn't there be an after if there were Reapers? What would be the point of having a soul if it didn't transcend the body?

Yes, Molly completely believed in an after-life. So, she didn't fear for the souls that she helped move into the after-life.

Molly has had to take many souls. She has taken the souls of children. She has taken the souls of people who had to leave their beloved behind in the world of the living. She's taken mothers just as they've given birth.

The very first soul that she reaped happened to be her father.

Despite all of this, she trusted Death, although she did not like him very much from time to time. The one time that Molly came very close to hating Death, was just a few days ago.

It was late. Molly always worked late. When a Reaper worked in a hospital (as most of them did), they made sure that there was another Reaper there to take over. Molly liked to stay later than most, however. There wasn't much going on for her outside of her job, and she knew that other Reapers never really got the chance to live.

She didn't mind all that much.

Just before she flicked the lights out, John Watson walked into the room.

Immediately, Molly looked for Sherlock. Although her feelings for the detective have finally subsided (mostly) she couldn't help but look forward to their meetings. He was really interesting- and he didn't mind spending time around dead bodies.

"Molly?" John asked, which brought Molly's attention back to him. The poor man looked confused, almost lost. It made Molly worried. John never looked like that, not really. Sure, she had seen him look worried about the things that Sherlock did or said, but now... This was different. Not only that, but Sherlock wasn't here with John. Why wouldn't Sherlock be here? It's not like John had any business in St. Barts.

Right?

"What's wrong, John?" She asked, taking a few steps forward. This entire situation felt familiar. The coldness in the air, the silent prayer that she wasn't quite aware she was praying, and the way her fingers itched to reach out to a person. It's not the first time Molly ignored an instinct.

"I don't know why I'm here," He said, almost surprised at his own words. "I was with Sherlock... then... I was here," He held a hand up. Molly knew that look. She'd seen it on John's face a time or two when Sherlock's said something awful. He's trying to make sense of something. At least she thinks so.

"And not one person, no one but you, anyway, could see me." He frowned, as if he had figured something out. But he wasn't the only one.

Molly's heart sank.

It never did work. Ignoring her instincts, that is. Every single time, she was disappointed. And now here? This might be the worst of all. Because this is John Watson.. She is still holding out this small hope that she's wrong, but with souls, she rarely is.

"You don't remember?" She prompted.

John smiled, and waved his hand in the air, as if to clear out everything that has been said.

"Never mind. I'll just... find Sherlock. Must have drugged me again, or something," He started to turn around and walk away. John's soul was the first that Molly felt very uncomfortable with. She didn't want to reap him. She wanted him to go home to baker street, to be with Sherlock.

Molly bit her lip before speaking.

"John, wait," She said, sounding a little desperate. "Wait, I know why you're here."

He turns, slowly, almost fearful. But Molly knows better. John's not afraid of being dead. He's afraid for the same reason she is. Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, John. I really, really am," She says, walking towards him. He still has that confused look etched on his face. Oh, John. "But you're... probably dead... and I am so, so sorry."

He nods once, and licks his lips. There is no need to ask what killed him, or how he ended up here. He's not even asking why she of all people can see him. It's clear from the look on his face that that isn't the part that bothers him. Far from it.

Molly is very good at her job, but she is not prepared for this. She's not prepared to see John Watson's body on a slab. She's not prepared to preform an autopsy, or reap him so that he may move forward. Her gut instinct tells her that he belongs here, in his body. Sherlock needs him, and that's good enough for her.

"What now?" He asks her after a moment. "I can't just... I can't leave." The air in the room feels thick. Molly isn't sure how to console him.

"I know. I'm-"

"No, no, don't apologise. Don't. Take me back. That's something you can do, is it? You can see me. Others couldn't. You can do something about all this, right?" It doesn't sound so much like a question. More like a demand.

It's not something she hasn't heard before. Molly has heard all the reasons why a person couldn't leave this life behind. Love. Children. A war. A debt to settle. It was always something. But there was nothing she could do but prolong the journey across the bridge John would need to take.

"John," She says softly. "I can't. I wish I could, but I can't," She has held many hands. Has hugged strangers. She's stood next to someone and not said a word. Sometimes all someone needed was some company. John Watson was one of the tricky ones. She couldn't provide the comfort that he needed.

So why on earth would Death send John Watson's soul to her?

In her pocket, he phone buzzed. Normally, she would ignore her phone when she was tending to a recently departed soul, but again, there was that feeling. That feeling that something was just off. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out her phone.

'Upstairs. Now. -SH' It read.

Sherlock was at the hospital? Of course. They would have brought the body to the morgue. Was Sherlock looking for clues?

Oh, but wait, Molly thinks. No, upstairs is... It suddenly clicked in her head. She looked up to John, excitement pouring into her.

"John, listen to me. You might not be dead. Just almost dead!"

John didn't seem as excited as she was.

"What do you mean almost dead?" He asked through gritted teeth. Why was he upset? Molly just told him he wasn't quite dead yet. Well, maybe she didn't explain it just right.

"I mean that it's your choice John. I mean, that you're at a crossroads, and you don't have to cross over, if you don't want to. You're probably... in a coma, or something. Probably, anyway. Something that could send you either way." She explained.

This had never happened to her. She had spoken to other Reapers who have guided souls who were at a crossroads. It's not terribly uncommon, but still. It's exciting. She'll be able to do Sherlock (and John) some good. She can set this right. That is, if John still wants to go back.

"Yes, yes, I want to go back, isn't that what I just said?" he said, his tone biting. "So... if you don't mind."

Molly was struck again by the fact that she has never before encountered a soul at the crossroads of life and death. She would have thought that if someone wanted to live, they would have just gone back.

So what was preventing John from going back to his life? This may be a problem.

"Erm... Well, lets go go have a look-see at your body, shall we? That should fix things up."

It was time to make sure that the men she loved and admired were kept safe.

* * *

Not beta'd! Not Britpicked! If you would like to, please hit me up on my tumblr. Also, this should be about 3-4 chapters long. Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

The hardest part about being a Reaper is seeing the family members afterward. The souls that Molly had to reap always seemed to be close by in her day to day life.

She so wished that she could tell them that they were okay. They've moved on to a better place. But really, what could she say? Telling them anything would make her sound mad. And even if they did believe her, how would that make anything better? That special person was still gone.

Molly thinks back to the time when she had to reap her father. She was so young, that she didn't think that anyone wouldn't believe her. Unfortunately, when she told her mother, she was less than pleased. That was how she learned the hard way that people would blame Reapers for their job, as if they had chosen the time a person died.

It's better to keep everything a secret, no matter how much she longs to tell others about their loved ones. At least, that's what she used to think.

Now, as Molly watched Sherlock lean against the wall in John's hospital room from the doorway, she wondered if it would be better if she told him. He'd know if she was lying or not. And besides, she could get John to say something that only Sherlock would understand. It would then be very easy for John and Sherlock to communicate.

Well, if they didn't mind Molly being in the way again, that is.

Sherlock's posture and the way he looked at John's soulless body made her feel a bit unnerved. He looked just so... angry. What had happened? They must have been on another case of some sort. Molly can't imagine someone just shooting John while he was walking on the streets. She looked at John, but he looked just as confused as she felt.

It didn't take long for John to finally enter his own hospital room.

Some souls preferred not to look at their bodies after death. It made their death seem more real to them. More permanent. Some, however, did. They wanted the closure. Some people even stayed for their autopsies. Molly always liked when they did. It was nice to have someone to talk to.

When they did look at their body, devoid of life and soul, their reactions varied. Some people looked on in disgust, as if they might be sick. Some looked at their body in wonder, like it was a curiosity. Some even kept their expression blank.

John was in a different category altogether. Molly supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised, but... seeing John walk towards Sherlock was something that she had only seen when people were very close to each other. Like... married people close, she thought. But John and Sherlock weren't like that. John had said so himself.

"Someone was going to shoot him," John said as he looked at Sherlock. Molly, of course, couldn't respond. With Sherlock standing right there, it would be impossible without giving herself away. Lucky for her, John realised this.

"During a case, I mean. His back was turned," He explained. "There wasn't enough time. I knew I couldn't stop the shooter, so I did the next best thing,"

Oh. So John chose to sacrifice himself for Sherlock. Of course he did. There was no other way for it to come to the end like this. One of these two would have made this decision sooner or later.

Suddenly, Sherlock pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning against and passed through John's soul as if it were only air. John watched Sherlock walk out of his hospital room, his expression hard to read.

"Sherlock," Molly called out, though unsure of what to say. It's not her he wants to comfort him, if he wants comfort at all. Yet Molly can't help but try to reach out to him. She really does want to help him. But she didn't expect him to listen to her and turn around.

He looked angry. At her. At John. At the world. Maybe even himself. Molly has recognized the look. She's seen it on many of the departed soul's family members. Some weep. Others blame something. It was something that never really went away, either. She prayed that it would for Sherlock.

"What." He said. To Molly, it sounded like he was so uninterested in what she had to say, that what she could say was a waste of time. This too, Molly was used to.

"I just, erm, I just wanted to let you know that everything is going to be okay. Really, it is," She said.

For a moment, it looked like Sherlock believed her. Molly could see that Sherlock saw that she spoke the truth. Well, at least she thought so. Then the belief melted off his face, and in it's place a sneer.

"John was an idiot," He said. "He put himself inside the line of fire. There was no reason for him to end up here, and yet," Sherlock gestured to the room John's body was in. "Here we are."

Molly didn't even notice that John had come to stand by her side. She could just make out in her peripheral vision that the words coming out of Sherlock's mouth stung him. Here, he had just laid his life down for his best friend, and his friend couldn't even... it just wasn't right.

"John he'll... he'll pull through. He won't be there for long. Really, you'll see," She turned to look at John, hoping it looked like she was looking towards his room. John wasn't there anymore, though. He had wandered off.

Molly looked around her, trying to see where his soul went. She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment when she saw John in his own hospital room. Maybe he didn't know where else to go. It's not like Sherlock is going to be good company at the moment.

He's not going to be company at all, Molly knows as soon as she looks up. Sherlock is already walking away. His gait is quick, sharp. He didn't bother moving out of the way for anyone.

Molly loved that man. (Note: not IN love with him. Not anymore!) But she wished that he'd pay a bit more attention to his friends when they needed him. Especially now, when John has such an important decision to make.

She goes into John's room.

John is looking at his own body, and is thinking hard. He looks angry again. Is he angry that he let himself save Sherlock? No. Molly can't imagine John ever regretting that, even if Sherlock is being more rude than usual.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

John just frowns, glaring at the hospital bed and his empty body. That was a stupid question, wasn't it?

"I haven't changed my mind, if that's what you're thinking," He answers after a few minutes. "I'm not going to die. I just..." He sighed. She understands. They're both a bit stumped as to what to do. If John was alive, his soul should be attracted to his body. There shouldn't be this disconnection. Maybe it was John's time.

This is the most they've ever talked, and Molly feels a bit guilty for that. John is a nice man.

"I know. He's just... he's being a little rude again," John scoffed and shook his head. It was no excuse, she knew that. Still, she felt the urge to defend him in some way. Sherlock was just acting out. He was upset that John was here. His only real friend.

"Technically, I'm unconscious. In a coma, and all that. But you'd think he'd be here," Molly looked down. No, she wouldn't. Sherlock is probably blaming himself for what happened, come to think of it. But John does need him. That much is obvious.

"He'll be back," She reassured quietly.

"It won't do anything. Being here," John replied, looking at her. "Maybe he's talking to Mycroft about... getting the best doctors or whatever. That's what's logical. That's what makes the most sense to do at the moment." He shrugs, and in part, she knows he's right. It won't do much being here. The best doctors aren't going to help all that much either, though.

Sometimes, Molly knew, company made all the difference. It didn't matter if they said anything or not, just that they were they, supporting you. That's what John needs right now.

It's quiet for a few minutes.

"You know how he is," Molly says with a smile. "Really, he'll come back. He won't apologise, or anything, but he'll make an effort to be here. When you come around, well, I mean, when you're back in your body, he'll make it up to you. That's how Sherlock-"

"Who are you talking to, Molly?

Molly's eyes widen. The smell of cigarette smoke invades the normally clean hospital smell. She turns slowly, hoping that she was hearing things. She wasn't.

Sherlock was standing there, his eyes narrowed.

At least she didn't have to decide to tell him or not anymore.

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Thank you for reading!


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